


War is sweet to those who haven't experienced it.

by fanetjuh



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - World War II, F/F, F/M, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 12:37:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13998492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanetjuh/pseuds/fanetjuh
Summary: When Simon Lewis, soldier across the sea fighting in the war, accidentally mixes up his letters for Clary and Isabelle, the unexpected happens. Clary and Isabelle go look for each other and it's the start of a future neither of them has ever imagined.





	War is sweet to those who haven't experienced it.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for Shadowhunters AU Monday's big bang on tumblr.  
> The fic was beta'd by the lovely and amazing rosevestsuperman  
> And the talented and wonderful rexundergod made the art that goes with it
> 
> Thank you so much for your support, patience and understanding. And for all being awesome!

******_Europe, Battlefield_**

"Lewis!" A growling voice echoed through the absolute silence in the tent. The colonel's footsteps were heavy, like war drums, almost in sync with Simon's rapidly beating heart.

Simon's fingers were covered in blue ink and quickly he muffled the letters he had written into their envelopes.

"Lewis!" The colonel raised his voice, slowly losing his patient with the young soldier who did everything he could to avoid the fight, to avoid carrying a weapon around, to avoid shooting, hurting and killing people, even though they were shooting, hurting and killing him and his friends first. "If any of your comrades dies tonight. It will be on you." The colonel turned around and walked away.

Simon hastily licked the envelopes, closed them and muffled them in the pocket of his pants. His legs were trembling while he attempted to stand up. He almost stumbled over his own feet while he hurried out of the tent, following his colonel to the battlefield. He wasn't made for the cruelness of this world. He didn't enjoy playing soldiers with real weapons and real victims. He wasn't proud because he was defending the honor of his country, across the ocean, far away from home, so far away that Simon wondered what they were actually doing here in the first place.

Maybe their president thought they were saving innocent people. Maybe the captains and colonels believed they were doing something for the greater good. Maybe the soldiers tried to keep themselves sane by telling themselves that they were freeing people from tyrants and murderers.

But Simon knew who held the weapons. Simon knew who fired the guns. Simon knew that he had killed innocent people, sent to the battlefield by another leader, who claimed to fight for the greater good and the people he represented.

It were never the leaders who paid the price of war. It were never the presidents and dictators and kings who bled and died far away from home. It were the soldiers, the young boys who had no choice but to leave everything behind, the innocent children who were ripped away from their schools and playgrounds who breathed out their last breaths in strange countries, surrounded by strangers.

"Lewis!" comrade Herondale rolled his eyes when he saw Simon. "What the hell were you doing?" He stared at the boy, barely a man, and tensed his muscles when he gave Simon a gun. "The alarm went off fifteen minutes ago already. Who knows how many of us have died."

Simon knew. Too many. That many that he was afraid the images of the death would haunted him for the rest of his life. That many that he had stopped making friends, had stopped asking for first names, had stopped caring about the new soldiers that arrived and the fallen soldiers that were buried. He could barely hold on to the shred of humanity that was left. He certainly would have lost it already if he had not written those letters to the two most beautiful girls he had ever seen. But he had lost too much of it already to feel guilty about cheating on both of them with each other.

_**New York, apartment** _

"Good day, miss." Clary politely greeted Dot while she rushed down the stairs towards the mailboxes. Her heart was hammering in her chest and her heels echoed through the empty staircase.

"Be careful, Clary!" Dot yelled after her, but Clary didn't hear the friendly words of her neighbor.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks ever since the last letter. With every day that passed Clary felt the restlessness inside of her grow. She had a pit in her stomach that made it almost impossible to eat. Adrenaline was constantly rushing through her veins making it almost impossible to sleep. Clary had dark circles under her eyes and the dress that had fitted her perfectly only a few weeks ago, was now fluttering formlessly around her body.

"Miss Fray?" The mailman pushed the door open and a smile spread across his face. "You will be happy to learn that I have a letter for you today." He gave her an envelope that had once been smooth and white, but was now covered in mud and wrinkled.

"Thank you." She didn't even look up, her trembling fingers already shredding the envelope to little pieces while she took the even more damaged letter out. Some of the words were barely readable because of the blue ink spots. Simon's handwriting was even more messy than it normally was, but Clary couldn't even read past the first two words at first.

_My beautiful Isabelle_

"Isabelle?" Clary furrowed her eyebrows and stared at the shredded envelope once more. Her name was on it. Her address was on it. And still the letter started with the name of another girl, of a girl she had never heard of. She shook her head. She would look into that later. After she had read the letter.

_My beautiful Isabelle,_

_Things have gotten worse since the last time I wrote you. The attacks of our enemies are happening more often now; that in the last few weeks our nights are spent getting out of bed before dawn._

_I shot people. I know that you already wrote me that you wouldn't blame for it, that you knew it was part of this horrible war, that it was not something I wanted, but something I had to do myself, but I hate it. I feel guilty about it. The people I've shot are soldiers just like me. They are sent here by their leaders and they are the ones bleeding out. We are the ones bleeding out._

_Sometimes I'm afraid I will never see my home again. I'm even afraid I will never see you again. I know that we barely know each other, but I miss you. I miss you every day. It's that thought that keeps me going. I want to make it home to you. I want to see you. I want to tell you everything stupid me couldn't tell you when I had the chance._

_For you, my beautiful Isabelle, I will try to make it home._

_Yours,_

_Simon_

Clary swallowed. She had hoped that a new letter would calm her mind. That she would finally stop being afraid that he had died already. She was not his official wife, they were not married. If something would happen to Simon no one would knock on her door to tell her. The only proof she had that he was still alive, were his letters. And the only proof she would have when he had died, was the lack of them.

But she didn't feel relief. Her worry had only grown because of what Simon had written and then there was that little voice nagging in the back of her mind wondering who Isabelle was. Clary folded the letter again and pressed it to her chest. Maybe finding Isabelle would distract her from waiting impatiently for the next letter. It was at least worth a try.

_**New York, Villa** _

Isabelle had her legs crossed while she took a sip of her tea. She was bored. Her mother had told her to stop talking about it, but she couldn't help it. Every time she got a new letter from Simon, she wondered why only boys were sent overseas to fight in this war. She was very well capable of fighting too. And based on Simon's letter she would even dare to say that she was more capable of fighting this war than some boys, she wouldn't name anyone in particular.

"Did you hear something from that soldier of yours again, Isabelle?" Her mother was not the slightest bit interested in the letters Simon sent her daughter, but at least she had the decency to act like she was. "Is he still alive?"

Isabelle let out a deep breath. She tensed her muscles and she shifted her weight while she put her teacup down before she would throw it at her mother's head.

There was no emotion in her mother's voice. There was no care. If Simon would die on that battlefield, Maryse wouldn't shed a tear for him. Most likely she would not even allow her daughter to shed a tear. She saw Simon as a stranger, as one of the many names she would not even recognize in the newspaper. She didn't care about Simon. She didn't care about any of the soldiers giving their lives for the honor of this country.

Isabelle stood up from her seat. She lifted her chin and straightened her back and balanced on her high heels while she walked to the door. "I will check the mailbox, if you don't mind." Isabelle didn't give her mother the chance to answer. She simply close the door behind her and walked through the giant hall towards the front door.

It was cold in New York, especially for the time of the year. The wind blowing in Isabelle's face almost hurt and the flowers that had dared to bloom early didn't look that happy about it either.

Isabelle wrapped her arms around her trembling body while she walked through the garden towards the mailbox. Of course she could ask one of their servants to get the letter, if there was any, for her, but she was not going to admit that she was bothered by the current temperatures and she didn't trust any of their servants with the letter. Somehow, even though they weren't, they felt like some intimacy only she and Simon shared.

The letter in the mailbox was wrinkled. Mud and sand made the address unreadable. It was quite impressive that the mailman had known where to deliver the letter.

Isabelle was tempted to open the letter right away, but the trembling of her fingers made it clear that she had to go inside first. With quick steps she hurried back into the villa. She left her high heels at the bottom of the stairs and swiftly she rushed upstairs to her bedroom. While she fell on her back on her bed she reached for a letter opener and she ripped the envelope open.

_My lovely Clary_

Isabelle furrowed her eyebrows and read the first two words again and again. She knew that Clary was Simon's childhood friend and that they had grown up together. She didn't know that she was still on his mind like this.

_My lovely Clary,_

_Do you remember when we were children and running around with those fake weapons pretending to be soldiers? Remember how I always wanted to be the hero who saved you? All those times we fought over who get to save who. I take them all back. I don't want to be a hero. I don't want to carry a weapon. Not when we only lose people and there is no one to save._

_When I close my eyes I see all the people I have shot. They look at me, telling me that they were innocent, that they were just as innocent as I am. I have nothing to do with this war. I didn't cause it. I didn't want it. I don't even know what we're fighting over and I don't think I want to know. I'm nothing but a soldier. I fire the gun and I kill people who fire the gun for their leader. And the people who really made this mess and started this chaos stay far away from this fight and never get harmed._

_I knew that when I left I was proud that I could go, but I'm not proud anymore. I'm afraid. I'm terrified and sometimes I think I will never come home again and that makes me feel even worse. When we grew up together we thought that there was no way we would ever lose each other, we thought that we would always be there for each other. I'm not so sure anymore. I'm not so sure how much longer I can still be there for you. I'm holding on to everything I can, but I really hope this is over soon, before I don't make it home anymore._

_I have to go now. My commander needs me. I hope this isn't the last letter I can send you._

_Yours,_

_Simon_

His name was barely readable. The ink had not been dry when he had tried to put the letter in its envelope. He had clearly been in a hurry and he had clearly been afraid. Somehow he must have been writing letters to both Isabelle and Clary. And somehow he must have been putting the wrong letter in the wrong envelope.

Isabelle wanted to be angry with him. For a long time she had thought she was the only one for him, the only person he could still talk to and could still trust. Of course, she should have known that Clary was around somewhere and that he had not forgotten about her, but Isabelle had really thought that she was somehow special, that he wrote her because she meant more to him than anyone else in the world. But she couldn't be angry with him. She felt the pain through each and every word in the letter that was not meant for him and all she wanted was for him to come home safely.

Isabelle pushed herself up and walked towards her desk. Even though she had been reading a letter that was not meant for her, she did want to answer him. And she had to admit that maybe she had also gotten a little curious about Clary and who she was. It was clear that Simon loved Clary just as much or even more than he loved Isabelle and instead of blaming him for cheating on her, even though it was on paper, she just wanted to get to know the one person who had seen Simon grow up into the wonderful boy he was now.

_**Europe, Battlefield** _

Simon blinked. He stared at the green of the tent above his head. He had no idea what had happened, but every time he tried to move a piercing pain cut through his entire body. Probably he had broken all the bones in his body. Most likely a bullet had pierced a hole somewhere, luckily missing some vital parts he needed to stay alive.

"Soldier Lewis?" His commander hung over him. His eyebrows were furrowed. He wore a frown on his forehead, but his eyes were filled with anger, with sorrow, maybe even worry. "You're awake. How do you feel?"

Simon raised his eyebrows, but even that slight movement hurt. "Surprised that I'm still alive?" He wasn't sure if that was the right answer, but it was the first answer that came to him. He wasn't even sure what had happened, how he had ended up here. Who had shot him? Had someone shot him? Had he even reached the battlefield?

"You can say that." The commander shook his head. "Where were you with your thoughts, Lewis?" He lifted his chin and straightened his back. His voice showed no compassion or empathy. His people getting shot, getting hurt, getting killed, it was all part of the job. They had not come here for a picnic in the park. They had come here to fight. And in a fight, people died.

"I don't know." Simon wanted to shook his head, but he remembered in the very last minute that maybe that wasn't a good idea. "Which parts of me are broken? I would love to check for myself, but even moving my thoughts hurt so, I'd rather hear someone else say it so I don't have to find out the hard way."

The commander curled his lips up into a weak smile, but the smile disappeared as fast as it had appeared. As if he realised in the very last minute that cracking a smile was not in his job description. "For some reason you were hit by five bullets, but not one actually killed you." The commander spoke softly. "If any of those soldiers had known how to shoot, you had been dead." The commander cocked his head. "Why did you cross the field, even though I told all of you not to?"

Simon wanted to shrug. He wanted to defend himself. He wanted to explain himself, but he couldn't. He had no idea why he had crossed that field. He had no idea if he had really done so. "If no bullet killed me, then what did they break? I know they must have broken things, else I would have been able to move without screaming."

"You were never made for this fight, Lewis." The commander placed a hand on Simon's shoulder. "It will take a while before you can use your arms and legs again. Your comrades carried you here. They might have broken a few bones in the process. You owe them your life." The commander pulled his hand back again. "I will send them to you, one by one. To keep an eye on you."

Simon couldn't appreciate the humor, even though it was exactly the kind of joke he would have cracked if it had been someone else here in the hospital bed. He wouldn't go anywhere for a while. He wouldn't have to fight anymore. He wouldn't have to hold a gun. He wouldn't have to shoot or hurt people. But he also couldn't go home. He couldn't go back to Isabelle, to Clary, to New York. "Make sure my friends bring paper and ink." Simon eventually said while he closed his eyes again. Even though he had slept for who knew how long, he was once again tired. "I have a few letters to write."

The commander walked away without another comment and Simon drifted off into a dreamless slumber, not knowing whether or not the commander would listen to what he had asked.

"Simon!"

Simon had no idea how much time had passed, but his eyes flashed open when one of his comrades fell down on the edge of his bed.

"I've been sent here with paper and ink to write the love letters you can't write anymore, because you decided to cross a battlefield with at least 10 guns aimed at you." The soldier shook his head. "And you would think that with the lack of quality food we get here, you would've lose enough weight for it to be easy for us to carry you home, but that was disappointing too. You were still heavy."

Simon wanted to interrupt his comrade, wanted to thank him for carrying him back to camp, for not letting him rot and die but his friend placed a finger on his lips.

"I don't want to hear it, Simon." He guessed what Simon was going to say, not that it was that hard. What else was there to say when someone had saved your life and risked his own? "You would have done the same for us. We would have done the same for everyone else. We've come here as strangers, but we're in this together and we want to make it home with as many of us as possible. And you, Simon Lewis, are one of the people who will make it home."

Simon curled his lips up into a smile. Home. He had dreamed of home so often that it felt like it was yesterday since he had left it. When he closed his eyes he could remember New York vividly. He could remember the sounds of the city, the smell of the industry. He could feel the shoulder brushing him while he walked across the street and he could see the building growing taller and taller towering over him.

And amids his memory of the city, were his memories of two faces. One face with sparkling eyes and bright red hair. It glimmered in the sun, her hand holding onto his, her smile brighter and her steps lighter than even the sun itself. The other face had eyes filled with love and raven black hair curling over her shoulders. Her high heels ticked on the pavement as they made their way through the city centre of New York. She was grace. She was beauty. She was a goddess come to life.

"Earth to Simon Lewis!" His comrade brushed his shoulder and Simon let out a scream while the images disappeared from his mind. "This war isn't waiting for anyone. If you want me to write those letters, you have to start telling me what to write. Before the commander calls me for the next fight." The boy spoke with a certain lightness, but they all knew that the lightness was nothing but a mask, hiding his fear.

No soldier truly wanted to be on that battlefield. No soldier wanted to hold a gun and shoot innocent people fighting for the other side. No soldier wanted to be carried back to heal, even though the true wounds would leave ugly scars for the rest of their human lives. And no soldier wanted to die here, far away from home, for a cause no one actually believed in any more.

"You have to write two letters." Simon cleared his throat. Even speaking hurt, but he wanted his girls to know that he was alive. He wouldn't tell them he was well. He didn't want to lie to them. But keeping information from them was not lying, was it? And just like he had never told them about each other, he wouldn't tell them how bad he was really doing either.

_**New York, Apartment** _

Clary cocked her head and stared at the letter on her desk. Without a last name it would be hard to find the girl, but that didn't mean Clary would give up before even trying. Giving up had never been in her dictionary before and she was not going to add it right now. She was going to find this Isabelle and she was going to find her before Simon would return from Europe.

"Clarissa?" Jocelyn knocked on her daughter's bedroom door. Normally Clary let her mother read the letters Simon had sent her, but this time she had simply told her that this letter was meant for her and only her. Her mother had not pushed her, had not asked questions. She had simply raised her eyebrows and had smiled. She had been young too. She had been in love too. And even though her marriage had not worked out in the end, which had made Jocelyn's life a lot harder than it could have been if she had stayed with Valentine, she had always assured Clary that she hoped that things between Clary and Simon would work out better, would end up happily ever after.

Quickly Clary hid Simon's letter under a stack of books and she opened the top one to pretend she had been reading all this time. "Come in." She yelled, a few seconds too late, but she could blame that on being lost in the story.

"There is a young lady for you." Jocelyn furrowed her eyebrows and stared at her daughter. "Do you know an Isabelle?"

Clary stared at her mother for a moment. She shook her head and for a second she was afraid that maybe she had heard it wrong, that maybe it was more wishful thinking than the truth. "Who?" Clary swallowed and she folded her hands in her lap.

"Isabelle Lightwood. Her father is one of the most important politicians here in town." Jocelyn let her glance over her daughter. "Do you two know each other?"

Clary looked over her shoulder at the letter, stuck under her pile of books. She didn't know Isabelle. She knew her name. She knew that Simon was writing letters to her too. She knew that those letters were just as much love letters as hers were. And she was curious. If Simon had fallen in love with someone else, she wanted to meet this person. "Her name sounds familiar."

It wasn't a lie. It wasn't the full truth either.

Quickly Clary stood up from her seat and she rushed past her mother to the living room. When she saw the young girl with raven black hair and a slightly colored skin she was all of a sudden more aware of her own clothes, her own apartment, her own first impression.

Isabelle was beautiful in every sense of the word. She wore bright red lipstick and her teeth were glimmering while she curled her lips up into a smile. Her cheeks were blushing slightly and she had a glimmer in her dark brown eyes. Her clothes were from brands Clary didn't even dare to look at and her heels were that high that Clary could already see herself tripping over them if she would attempted to take one step in them.

Compared to Isabelle, Clary felt surprisingly normal. Her house was nothing but a living room, a kitchen and two bedrooms. The radio was years old already and disturbed more than it actually worked. Her clothes were already worn by a few girls before her and were not quite the right size.

"You must be Clary Fray." Isabelle stretched out her hand and crossed the distance between them. "I'm Isabelle Lightwood and I was thinking if maybe you would be interested in having tea with me right now?" Isabelle looked over Clary's shoulder and Clary felt her mother standing behind her.

Normally Clary didn't ask for permission anymore. She was old and wise enough to decide things like this for herself. If Simon wouldn't have been sent to Europe, they would have been married by now, living in their own house, maybe she would have been pregnant already. But somehow Clary now felt the need to look over her shoulder to her mother.

Jocelyn nodded. "You did all your chores, did you?" Jocelyn knew that her daughter had done them and Clary rolled her eyes while she nodded.

"I'd love to." She cleared her throat and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "So, you want to leave now?"

Isabelle nodded and Clary walked past her through their narrow hallway. She took her jacket and put it on. Even though it was almost spring, the cold wind was still nasty and the last thing she wanted was getting ill. "Can you wait here for a second?" Clary didn't wait for Isabelle to answer, but she walked as quickly as she could and dared to her bedroom to take the letter that was never meant for her. When she returned she saw in Isabelle's eyes that the girl knew exactly what she had gotten and Clary hoped that meant that her letter, the one that was meant for her at least, would eventually reach her anyway.

_**New York, Teahouse** _

Isabelle had to admit that she had not expected that this conversation would have been this easy. She was not sure what she had been expecting when she had rang the doorbell of the small apartment, but certainly not friendliness or a warm welcome.

Clary was Simon's childhood friend. They had played in the sand together. They had gone to school together. They had been on each and every birthday party the other had thrown. They had been each other's prom date to every high school ball they were allowed to attend. Most likely they had already spoken about their future, the one they had imagined themselves and the one the rest of the world had imagined for them. Maybe they had plans to get married, to get their own apartment or house and start their own family.

Even though Isabelle knew that Simon had loved her, she couldn't help having the feeling that she had been stealing someone's boyfriend, that she had been the woman who had come between a perfectly happy couple.

But if Clary saw her like that, if Clary felt like that, she was really good at hiding it. "I've got something for you." Clary reached for the letter, tucked away in the pocket of her coat. The letter was just as damaged as the one Isabelle had received and on top of that it had clearly been read over and over, countless times.

Isabelle had read Clary's letter only once. But once had been enough to memorize each and every word and most of all the part where Simon told her, them, Clary, that he was afraid that he would never come home and return to them. "I have something for you too." Isabelle opened her small purse and reached for her letter. She placed it on the table in front of her and when Clary shove her letter towards Isabelle, Isabelle shove the other letter towards Clary.

Clary hesitated for a moment. Her fingers trembled slightly and even though Isabelle wanted to read her letter as soon as possible, she waited for Clary to eventually unfold hers.

Isabelle's eyes went over the words Simon had written. Even though he used different words and phrasing when writing to her, the message had not changed. Isabelle got the impression that maybe he indeed loved them both equally as much. "Thank you for coming with me." Isabelle folded the letter again and gently tucked it away in her purse. She didn't want to damage the letter any further, afraid that eventually the paper would rip and the words would be lost forever.

"It's no problem." Clary shook her head and put her letter away too. "I was already looking for you anyway. I wanted to meet you." Clary licked her lips and shrugged. "I was actually kinda curious to meet the other girl Simon somehow fell in love with."

"I never meant to come in between you. He always spoke about you as a childhood friend. If I had known that you were more to him that just that, I would have stayed away from him." Isabelle knew that if the girl had truly blamed her or seen her like an intruder she wouldn't have been here, but still she wanted to voice her apologies out loud. If she had been in Clary's shoes, she would have been furious and she admired the calm and curiosity the red haired girl instead displayed.

Even though Clary wore plain and simple clothes, probably inherited from an older friend or a vague acquaintance, she still had this natural beauty surrounding her. It was as if the girl was glowing, almost as if she was a reincarnation of the sun itself.

"I'm really sorry." Isabelle bent her head and avoided Clary's glance, but Clary reached for Isabelle's hand and squeezed it gently.

"You couldn't know about me and..." Clary bit her lip. "I think I know what Simon saw in you. He must love you very much. I could almost feel it in every word he wrote."

"I don't know if he loves me as much as he loves you. I could feel his affection for you while reading your letter too." Isabelle paused. "It showed it all the stories he told me about you too, that's how I found you. And you for sure do not disappoint."

For a moment they sat there in absolute silence. Clary's cheeks blushed and Isabelle didn't know what else to say.

"So, how did you two meet?" Clary was the first to break the silence and after that first question they started talking and talking until the sun set and they had both missed the dinner their parents had served.

_**Europe, Battlefield** _

"So, you are telling me that those two ladies are both in love with you?" His comrade read the two letters Clary and Isabelle had sent back. They were filled with concerned words, with love, with worry and with the hope that he would come home soon. "How did you do that, Lewis?" He threw the letters on Simon's bed. "Two ladies, both in love with you. Do they know about each other?"

Simon closed his eyes. He actually didn't feel like talking about all of this, but since he couldn't hold the letters himself it was either waiting weeks until he could read them, or allowing someone else in on his secrets.

"No wonder you were always so distracted and busy writing." Teasingly the soldier placed a hand on Simon's shoulder.

"Clary and I know each other since kindergarten." Simon opened his eyes again. "We did everything together. We built sandcastles together. We made homework together and we graduated together. It was easy to be friends with her and even easier to love her." He paused for a short moment. "Without this stupid war we'd probably be married right now, with one or two children running around while I'd try to manage this boring 9 to 5 job and would get fired every half a year." Simon grinned and his friend laughed along.

"And what about this Isabelle?"

"Isabelle and I weren't supposed to meet." Simon avoided his friend's glance. "She's the daughter of a politician. She's way more important than Clary and I will ever be. And she's even prettier than she is important." Simon thought about her raven black hair curling over her shoulders, dancing when she walked on her high heels, moving her hips without even being aware of it. "After our training and before we left, I had to deliver a letter to her father. She opened the door and it was as if lighting struck me."

"Love at first sight while you're sorta engaged. I didn't expect something like that from you, Simon Lewis." His comrade shook his head and threw his head in his neck while he let out a chuckle. "Who would have thought that you, Simon Lewis, would be this casanova."

Simon rolled his eyes. It was one of the very few things that didn't hurt, even though he could at least move his arms and legs again. "You should have seen her smile. You should have seen her moving, dancing, soaring." Simon dreamed away. "And not once did she give me the impression that I was less than her, even though we both knew." Simon sighed. "Her father wasn't at home and she invited me to come in and wait for him. We drank tea together and talked and talked and she was surprisingly nice to talk to and..." Simon swallowed. "We decided to meet each other again and again and again."

"You were cheating on your girlfriend."

"I wasn't..." Simon bit his lip. "We never kissed or something, I wouldn't have done that." But he had dreamed about that, he had wanted to kiss Isabelle, more than anything in the world. And he hated himself for it, just like he hated himself for writing her letters, for giving her hope.

"You went out with another girl and you're writing her love letters. If they ever find out, you do know that it's not gonna end well for soldier Lewis and that it will be much worse than being hit by five bullets, do you?"

Simon didn't answer anything. "If they ever find out." He knew that one day he would have to let one of them go. He knew that one day he would have to marry one of them. He had always thought that Clary would be the one and only for him, but now the choice didn't seem that simple anymore. The more letters he exchanged with Isabelle, the more he had talked to her. He had fallen in love with her, but he had not fallen out of love with Clary. He still loved her. He always would. "I wish I could have them both."

"Yes, we all wish we can have two girls. We're not that lucky, Lewis. Most girls don't like to share their men." His comrade stood up. "I'll send someone with paper so you can answer them both."

"That won't be necessary." The commander entered the tent. "I've discussed your situation with the medical staff here and we have decided to send you home."

Simon's eyes widened and if he would have been able to push himself up he would have done so.

"You are now strong enough to survive the flight home." The commander had his hands folded behind his back. He stood straight and lifted his chin a little. "We have declared you mentally incapable of fighting this war any longer."

"You sent me home because I can't fight anymore?" Simon dropped his jaw and he ended up pushing himself up anyway and regretted it immediately.

"You never could." The commander locked his glance with Simon's. "Most of the soldiers here can't, but for you we now have a reason to send you back home, back to safety." The commander turned around and looked over his shoulder one more time before he walked out of the tent again. "Don't waste it, Lewis. Make something of your life and remember those who can't do so anymore."

Simon lost his balance and fell back into the pillow. A few tears rolled down his cheeks. He had seen boys dying, to young to fight, barely brave enough to even hold a weapon. He had seen people dreaming of going home only to never make it back there. He was now given the chance to survive this battlefield, to survive this war, to tell the story of what he had seen here and done here. He was given the chance to have a future. He was relieved and terrified at once. Because going home, starting a future, also meant making a choice. He couldn't have them both, his comrade was right about that.

But how could he ever decide between his best friend, his loyal companion, the girl who knew everything about him and still love him? And the beautiful rare flower that somehow had her eyes on him, even though she was supposed to be far out of reach?

He had an entire flight home to figure that out. But he doubted if that was enough.

_**New York, Villa** _

Clary felt out of place in the giant house. Even with a map she would still get lost here and she didn't even dare to ask Isabelle where the toilet was. She would have to ask the girl to bring her there and lead her back to the living room. Just the thought already made Clary's cheeks heat up.

"What do you want to drink?" Isabelle leaned casually against the doorframe. She had her arms crossed over her chest and her high heels made her a few inches taller than she actually was. Her red lips made every word sound like a song and her dark black hair was so smooth and gleamed in the early morning sun. She was beautiful. She was nice. She was everything and the more time Clary spent with Isabelle, the more she realized that Isabelle was everything Simon could have wished for and more. Isabelle was everything Clary was not.

"I don't know what you have, but a cup of tea, please?" Clary crossed her legs and folded her hands around her knee. She was afraid to do something wrong, to say something wrong, to show Isabelle's parents and her older brother that she was nothing but a poor common girl. Yes, Jocelyn had taught her how to behave and how to be polite, but that felt different from being here, surrounded by vases that could break and people who hung out with the high society.

"Any preference for a certain flavor? I can also ask our cook to surprise you, of course." Isabelle cocked her head. Not once had she thrown her riches in Clary's face. Not once had she made the red haired girl feel unwelcome. But there was a certain casualty in the way she used the word cook. As if she didn't even realize that most girls in New York didn't have cooks and maids and butlers running around for them.

"I'm fine with being surprised." Clary tucked a strand of her long red hair behind her ear and she let her eyes wander through the living room. She stared at the paintings, without a doubt older than she was. She stared at the furniture, made of materials Clary had never seen before.

"Cook always makes the best surprise teas." Isabelle fell down next to Clary and she placed her hand on Clary's upper leg. "She knows more about herbs and flowers than anyone I have ever encountered in my life." Isabelle's shoulder brushed Clary's. "And usually when I ask for a surprise, she also adds something nice like her famous lemon tarts or custard cake."

Clary tried to hide her excitement, but she could feel her heart hammering against her ribs. "Are you sure it's okay if I come here? I mean, I'm just a simple girl living in an apartment downtown and..."

Isabelle placed a hand on Clary's cheek and turned her face towards her. "I know that our riches might overwhelm you, but I assure you that there are just as many things you have that I don't as the other way round." She nodded firmly, but Clary furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head in disbelief. Isabelle had everything she could possibly dream of. What else could she want?

"Isabella?" A pretty lady walked into the living room. She wore clothes from brocade and she had her hands folded in front of her chest. "You did not forget about our meeting with the mayor tonight, didn't you?" She didn't even turn her head towards Clary and lifted her chin a little when her daughter didn't answer fast enough. "You can't show up dressed like that and make sure to wear that necklace he gave you for your birthday." Without another word she turned around and Clary dropped her jaw while she stared after her.

"See?" Isabelle grabbed Clary's arm and squeezed it. "That's one of the most important things you have that I don't." She leaned back in the couch and kicked off her high heels as if they were more of a burden than a pleasure. "Your mother cares about you and doesn't simply see you as some jewel she can offer to the highest bidder."

"The highest bidder?" Clary raised her eyebrows and Isabelle shrugged.

"The mayor has a son and my mother wants me to seriously consider his request to take me out to win my heart." She rolled her eyes. "Look, I don't care who your parents are and how much money you have to offer. I don't care if you have brown hair or blue hair or red hair. But I do care about personality." She paused and exchanged a look with the red haired girl next to her on the couch. "That boy may be handsome and rich, but he has the most horrible personality ever." She locked her glance with Clary's. "I prefer ten Simons, without a house nor money, over him every day. I would prefer someone like you over him every day too."

Clary felt her cheeks heating up, even though she didn't understand why. "Me? You'd date someone like me over the son of a mayor?" She shifted her weight and straightened her skirt. The skirt had been a bright red when she bought it, but after years of wearing it the color had washed down. "Really?"

Isabelle nodded. "You are kind and understanding. You are breathtakingly beautiful and you have learned that life is not about money and riches, but about friendship and love and loyalty."

_**New York, Villa** _

Isabelle meant each and every word that simply escaped her lips before she had the chance to think them through. Although she had met the girl Simon had promised himself to years ago, when he was too young to understand what it meant, only a couple of weeks back she had grown quite fond of the pretty smile and the endless kindness that Clary displayed.

Not once had the girl acted out of jealousy and spite. Not once had she accused Isabelle of stealing her boyfriend, even though she had every right to be angry with Isabelle. Not once had she judged Isabelle for her social status, her expensive clothes or her father. Clary had accepted that this was the girl she had to share Simon with and she had slowly become a dear friend, or maybe even more, by just letting Isabelle be the girl she wanted to be.

If Isabelle had had a choice she would never have chosen a life like this. She respected the comfort of her giant bed, her soft pillows and her warm blankets. She was thankful for the countless of tasty dishes their cook offered her. She knew that a lot of people worked harder than they should every day to please her and, most of all, her parents. But she could have lived without any of it. She was one of the very few girls who had no idea how to prepare a meal. Not once had she shivered at night because the cold winter wind blew through the cracks of the window and froze her skin. There were so many things she couldn't do herself, because someone else had always done the task for her and in a way she felt like she wouldn't be as useful as someone like Clary would be.

Clary certainly knew how to clean the house and take care of dinner at the same time. Clary had probably learned how to wash her clothes and erase even the most impossible stains from every fabric. Clary grew up in a family where love was more important than whether or not the bread they were eating was freshly baked that morning. Clary would know how to run a household all on her own and how to take care of her future children. She would make an amazing wife and an amazing husband and Isabelle envied Simon because he was the one who got to be on the receiving end of all her love and tenderness.

"If Simon had not beaten me to it, I would have asked you to be my girlfriend." Isabelle winked, making sure that her comment could be taken in a light and playful way, even though she meant it. She meant each and every word of it and even though she didn't want anything to change between her and Clary and the friendship they could have, she did want offer the girl this compliment, leaving it to her how she would take it.

Clary's cheeks, always slightly red as if they attempted to match her hair, started to blush even more and she avoided Isabelle's glance while she took a few deep breaths. "I know what Simon sees in you and that's why I can't be angry with him." Clary looked up and her beautiful eyes met Isabelle's. "You're pretty and nice and smart." Clary moved her fingers and took another deep breath. "I could fall in love with you myself, if Simon hadn't done so already. Or, if I didn't have Simon already." She giggled and her giggle was prettier than the best music Isabelle had ever heard in her entire life.

"Are you serious right now?" Isabelle reached for Clary's hands and she felt how the palms of the red haired beauty were sweating. "I will cancel my dinner with the mayor tonight." Isabelle stood up from her seat and pulled Clary up with her. "I have more important things to do, because I want to take you out for dinner. I want to take you to the one restaurant where I took Simon too when we had our first unofficial date together."

Clary coughed and cleared her throat. "Won't you get in trouble for that?"

Isabelle smiled and she straightened her back and lifted her chin. "I could. But it will be absolutely and without a doubt worth it."

_**Somewhere above the ocean, Airplane** _

Simon was nervous. He was actually surprised that he was nervous, since he was flying away from this stupid war and the chance of being killed, but he was still nervous and he didn't exactly know why. Or actually, he did know why, but he was trying to remind himself that he had solved that problem and that everything would be fine.

Clary would probably be a little offended that after having to live without him all this time she was not allowed to pick him up at the airport, but even Clary had to understand that he was wounded and that he didn't want her to see him like this. She deserved a soldier who could take care of her, a tough guy who could protect her. At the moment she would only see a broken human being who had to be cared for.

Most likely Isabelle was the one to understand that she couldn't come to the airport. Isabelle probably didn't know that Clary was still a little more than his childhood friend, but she at least knew that he had not told his mother about Isabelle and everything that was happening between them. She understood that showing up at the airport and introducing herself as Simon's girlfriend would be weird. At least, hopefully she understood all of this.

Simon sighed. He leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. His entire body was aching, blood was seeping through the stitches that were not made for him to sit up yet. He had however refused to lay down on some kind of bed this entire flight. He was regretting that a little bit right now, actually. Laying down would have been much more comfortable, even though it would have made him look even more miserable than he already felt right now.

"Mr Lewis, anything to eat? Anything to drink?" A grumpy looking man rolled his eyes while he noticed the blood stains on Simon's shirt. "You soldiers are too stubborn for your own good. And who can clean up this entire mess after we've landed? Me, exactly. You could have just laid down you know. Would have been far more pleasant for everyone involved."

Simon swallowed. He wanted to defend himself, wanted to explain to this guy how it felt to leave the country as a hero, as a defender and come back as a broken toy that, most likely, no one wants to have. But even Simon had to admit that the man was right. If he had laid down, he would be in a lot less pain, there wouldn't be bloodstains on his shirt and both he and the steward would be much more comfortable.

"Anything to eat or drink?" The man rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "There are more soldiers on board, I haven't gotten all day for you." He raised his eyebrows and Simon cleared his throat.

"A glass of water, please." He was hungry too, but if this pain would get worse with every second that passed, he preferred having an empty stomach over giving that poor man even more work by cleaning up everything that would come out if it would all become too much to handle.

The man didn't answer. He reached for a bottle of water and filled a paper cup with it. Without another word, not even an unfriendly one, he pressed the cup in Simon's hand and walked over to the next passenger.

All soldiers on board had a story. They were wounded. They were traumatized. They had seen and done things they shouldn't have been doing at their age. They had been through situations no one should ever have to face in their entire life ever.

The leaders of the world were the ones who had decided to fight. And yet, it were the poor boys; barely old enough to take care of themselves, who paid the price on the battlefields far away from home. Not one of them would ever be the same again. They were taken away from the war, brought home to safety, to their girlfriends, and to their parents. But no one would ever be able to take the war out of them.

Simon knew that the war would be with him for the rest of his life. He would dream about it at night. He would see his comrades dying every time he closed his eyes to blink. He would never forget the sound of a gun when it was fired, aimed at someone who had nothing to do with this war either, just like Simon and all the other soldiers around him.

_**New York, Airport** _

Clary shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Her feet were not used to the high heels yet and her dress was a little too short for her liking. In the pocket of her mantle she felt the letter Simon had send her burning. She didn't know well and how long he thought they knew each other, but she was not gonna wait at home until he would call that he had time for her.

"Do you think he'll be surprised when he sees the two of us waiting for him?" Isabelle turned her face towards her while Clary tucked a strand of her red hair behind her ear. "I believe he still doesn't know that we found out about each other. He will get quite a shock." She reached for Clary's hand and squeezed it gently.

Yes, Simon would indeed get quite a shock. He was not expecting them. He had written them both that his mother would pick him up and that it was better if they would not come to the airport. In Clary's case he had talked about not wanting her to see him like this. In Isabelle's letter he had spoken about the fact that he had not told her mother about her yet. He had played the game quite well, but knowing Simon he has realized that sooner or later he would have to make a choice.

Clary curled her lips up into a slight smile. She tightened her grip on Isabelle's hand and pulled the pretty girl a little closer towards her. She wanted to be angry with Simon and with how he had treated them both, but she just couldn't. She couldn't be angry, because the outcome of this all, if Simon would be okay with it of course, was way too beautiful and way too good.

"You and Simon are the best thing that has ever happened to me and that does include all the fancy dresses my father gave me for my birthday and even the prada heels he found me for Christmas last year." Isabelle's voice was soothing and kind. She was a beacon of calm and rest, as if she was not the slightest bit nervous, as if she was only excited about everything that was still to come. As if all of this was so much better than the life she used to have so far.

"What if he doesn't like it? What if he doesn't want both of us?" Clary's voice was nothing but a soft whisper. When they had talked about this option, during one of their many dates in a small bakery with slices of the most delicious cake Clary had ever had in front of them, it had sounded like the best possible solution for everyone. Clary wouldn't lose Simon to another girl. Isabelle wouldn't have to let go of her love story because of Clary and Simon wouldn't have to choose between them. But the closer the moment came that Simon was going to find out that she and Isabelle had talked about a future with the three of them, the more questions Clary had and the more she started to worry that Simon didn't have something like this in mind.

What if he had figured out in the meantime who he loved more and who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with? What if he had just not wanted to write it in a letter, but had wanted to say it personally to them? What if he had not wanted them to come to the airport, because it was complicated and awkward and not the right moment to share his feelings.

"Clary..." Isabelle shook her head and moved a little closer to Clary. "I am absolutely certain that Simon will love this, us and that we will have the brightest and most amazing future ever." She raised her voice and Clary looked nervously over her shoulders because she was afraid that someone had heard it.

Maybe she and Isabelle were ready for this kind of relationship, the world around them was most likely not. That was another detail they would have to talk about at some point. What they were gonna tell the outside world. Simon couldn't marry them both and Isabelle and Clary couldn't marry each other. If anyone found out about this relationship, they might end up socially isolated and frowned upon by everyone who had ever wanted to be their friend.

"You worry too much, little redhead." Isabelle whispered now and her lips pressed Clary's cheek. "Everything will be fine, I promise. We will figure everything out and make this work." She straightened her back and lifted her chin when the doors leading to the exit of the plane opened. "Have a little faith in me and in love."

Having a little faith. That was easier said than done, but Clary took a deep breath and put up her brightest smile. Maybe Isabelle was right and maybe everything would be fine. Clary wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe that more than anything.

_**New York, Airport** _

For as long as Isabelle could remember, her entire life had always been planned out for her by her father and mother. They had without a doubt meant well and had only wanted the best for their only daughter, but the best her parents had in mind had never been in line with all the plans Isabelle had made for her own future. She had wanted more, she had wanted different things and most of all she had wanted to make her own choices.

This was her own choice. Clary was her own choice. Simon was her own choice and taking the hard way instead of the easy one was her own choice. Maybe her future wouldn't be filled with powerful positions and endless money on her bank account, but for the first time she chose something her parents had not planned for her and would most likely not agree with anyway.

"Simon!" Isabelle was the one to raise her hand and her voice as soon as she saw the boy with the brown curls in a wheelchair. He looked even more miserable than he had sounded in all his letters, but a smile still spread across her face.

He could have not come home. He could have died there, overseas, fighting a war everyone was against, but no one seemed to stop anyway. He was wounded and scarred, but at least he was alive and he had a future. And hopefully he would agree that his future was with them, with Clary and Isabelle, even though it was complicated and scary.

"I'm so happy you're home." Clary let Isabelle's hand go and rushed towards her childhood friend. They looked good together and Isabelle didn't know if she would have been able to break them up eventually. Luckily Clary had agreed that no one would have to break up with anyone, if Simon would agree with it too of course.

"Clary? Izzy?" Simon swallowed. His lips trembled and he tried to smile, but all his muscles were tensed and even though he was now an adult boy who should be able to take care of his wife and children he looked like a teenager who was dressed up for a high school dance. "I thought I asked the two of you not come and pick me up, because..." He paused and didn't finish his sentence while he eyes wandered through the arrival hall. "Where is my mom?" He looked surprised at Clary, then at Isabelle who had quickly followed the red haired girl she had fallen in love with, back at Clary and back at Isabelle.

"We asked your mother if it was okay if we would pick you up together." Isabelle reached for Clary's hand again and she followed Simon's glance.

He swallowed while he stared at their entwined fingers, at how comfortable and normal it looked as if this was exactly how it was supposed to be. "How did..." He licked his dry lips and his cheeks heated up as if he was expecting the girls to lecture him on keeping secrets and dating two girls at once, even though most of the cheating had been on paper. "You guys know each other?"

"You switched two letters." Clary shook her head, but her eyes glimmered and her bright white teeth blinked in the early morning sun. "Before I could look her up, she came knocking on my door and..." She turned her face towards Isabelle and Isabelle allowed herself to drown in those pretty eyes for a short moment. "Instead of being angry with you, we fell for each other and..." Clary looked at Simon again. Her cheeks were a bright pink almost matching the color of her hair while the hand holding onto Isabelle was sweating.

Isabelle squeezed Clary's hand encouraging before she finished Clary's sentence. "If you agree not to choose between us, you can get both of us as long as we can keep each other too."

Simon's eyes widened. He stared at them with a dropped jaw and it seemed as if he had forgotten about the wheelchair and the pain he was in when he shook his head and stared at both girls. "You..." He stuttered, almost trembling over his own words and he leaned back on the, without a doubt, not that comfortable wheelchair. "You mean that we're gonna make this whole mess I created a threesome or..."

"Not just a threesome." Isabelle winked, even though she didn't mind the threesome at all and had quite often allowed herself to daydream about it already. "A relationship with the three of us. Of course, we have to figure out the details and see how we can make this work legally, but I'm sure that if we want this we will find a way." She hoped that her confidence would rub off on Clary and Simon. She hoped that they could share her firm faith that this would work out. If the three of them believed in it, they had already taken the first and most important step.

"Wow..." Simon kept silent for a moment and he looked a little uncomfortable while he scratched the back of his neck. But eventually his lips curled up into the brightest smile Isabelle had ever seen him make. "I spent the entire way home worrying about how I was gonna do this, because I didn't wanna lose either of you and..."

"Now you won't." Isabelle smiled back at him and she pressed her soft lips to his cheeks while Clary kissed his other cheek. "Welcome home and welcome to a new life, warrior."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [War is sweet to those who haven’t experienced it. (ART)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14017236) by [undergod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/undergod/pseuds/undergod)




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